Saturday, 26 March 2016

Customary Practices

I watched in
amazement as a large lady, made larger by the several bags (and larger still by
the two black bin-bags full of inflated balloons) she was 'carrying', squeezed
herself and all her stuff into our already-packed rush-hour tube train. From
where I stood the potential for a Benny Hill-style comedy sketch was obvious,
but there was only po-faced disapproval among those in her immediate vicinity. For
while her action was undoubtedly a triumph of determination, did it not also
display a certain disregard for the comfort of her fellow passengers? There
was, of course, no vocal condemnation of her apparently selfish behaviour. In
fact there evolved a noticeable sympathy for her predicament when it became
obvious from her embarrassed apologies that she was a foreigner and, as such,
might be excused for not comprehending the local customs. Someone even offered
up their seat so that the balloons might have sole occupation of the space
above it.

Having
received recently an invitation to a "black tie" dinner, I know that no
such tolerance will be afforded me if I fail to observe the rules of engagement
for the function: they are clearly prescribed by tradition and practice, especially
in this case, given that the venue is Lord's Cricket Ground. I won't be able to
claim cultural immunity as a foreigner. Also, I recognise that the invitation
subtly embodies a challenge: to demonstrate one's English credentials in the
matter of etiquette. Still, I have been well placed this past week to observe some
other venerated establishments which are emblems of the English tradition and
which appear also to be resistant to change.

A visit to
Oxford one day took me to the Ashmolean Museum and the Bodleian Library both of
which (and for all their oddly, foreign-sounding names) are revered as ancient
pillars of Oxford University. Their collections are indubitably important, but
I admit to spending very little time contemplating them since it was a crisp,
clear, sunny day, ideal for strolling around admiring the architecture of the University's
historic buildings feeling, all the while, proprietorial around the foreign
tourists.

Then there
was a tour of the Old Bailey, courtesy of a friend whose work there entitles
him to an 'access all areas' pass. The old (1907) court building is imposing
and, presumably, was designed as such to assert the authority of the judiciary.
All but the most hardened of criminals would have been cowed by the architecture
and, in case they were not, there was a final, symbolic flourish in 'dead man's
walk', the gloomy external passageway leading to Newgate gallows. Here the
condemned were obliged to walk through a series of openings in the building's buttresses,
each one smaller than the last. It's no longer in use, of course, but many of
the traditions of the institution have been preserved, thanks mainly to the owner
of the buildings, the Corporation of London, whose vast wealth is deployed to
offset the austerity of successive Governments.

But not all
tradition is posh. Further down the social strata, another friend and I
explored the state of some erstwhile working-class boozers on a pub-crawl along
the Mile End Road. Some have been born-again in keeping with changing tastes
and circumstances but, with the call to prayer from the East London Mosque
echoing along the rows of oriental shop-fronts, the evening was tinged with exoticism.
Mind you, this part of London preserves another sort of English tradition: that
of accommodating displaced foreigners.

So, on checking
the small print of my invitation to Lords, I note that, after the stipulation
of 'carriages at 11.00', there is a concession to modernity: it asks whether
one has any special dietary requirements. In the hope that my host is reading
this, I would just like to say "Yes: a decent, traditional claret,
please."